


If The World Was Ending

by Chipper99



Series: Destiel One Shots [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Castiel's Mixtape, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hugs, Inspired by Music, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Music, Season/Series 15, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Sharing a Bed, Sleeping Together, Talking, sharing earphones, they actually talk for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26502202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chipper99/pseuds/Chipper99
Summary: “So,” Dean gets out once he slams his glass back down on the table. “Last night on earth. Any plans?”Castiel smiled fondly at the familiar words, tracing random designs on the side of his glass with his fingertip. “This one right here. If I only have a short time left here before… I like quiet moments like these. With you. Whatever time is left, I’d like to share it with you. If you’ll have me.”They both liked to play this game. Throwing out words that could have entirely different meanings. Nervous looks exchanged between the two of them, wondering if the other is going to take up the offer that’s hidden, no, intertwined within words that are balancing on the line between “brothers” or “lovers”.* * *Inspired by the song "If The World Was Ending" by JP Saxe and Julia Michaels. Castiel and Dean share a moment in the bunkers kitchen, in which Castiel reveals something he's been hiding from the brothers.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Destiel One Shots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514507
Comments: 7
Kudos: 147





	If The World Was Ending

****

_‘But if the world was ending,_

_You’d come over, right?_

_You’d come over and you’d stay the night,_

_Would you love me for the hell of it?_

_All out fears would be irrelevant,_

_If the world was ending,_

_You’d come over, right?_

_The sky’d be falling and I’d hold you tight,_

_No, there wouldn’t be a reason why,_

_We would even have to say goodbye’_

_\- ‘If The World Was Ending’ by JP Saxe and Julia Michaels  
  
_

* * *

The world was ending.

It was strange that such a thought didn’t instill Dean with an urgent sense of panic. At this point, it was a common occurrence in their lives. Some incident that could potentially wipe out most if not all life on Earth. Lucifer rising, the apocalypse, hunting down God’s first creations -which would happily eat the world, talking down Amara from plunging the world into darkness. Now…this; God. It seems… unfathomable. It’s not just the world ending, it’s _all of them_. Every version of Earth to have ever existed, every possible universe out there, an infinite amount of Sam and Dean’s… and God – or, Chuck – personally had it out for _them_.

They were ‘ _his favorite show’._ Their _entire_ lives, _all_ of the lives of the other Sam’s and Dean’s - they were just Chuck’s playthings. A source of entertainment to keep him happy when he got bored of playing the father of creation. He and Sam… they had always tried to do what’s right. And sure, it didn’t always work out that way. More often than not, such catastrophic events would both be directly and indirectly caused by them in one way or another, usually in some desperate bid to save the other. It’s a guilt that hangs over Dean’s head every day of his life – and he’s sure it does for Sam, too. But no matter what, they would do all they could to _fix_ it. Now, he just thinks ‘ _what was the point?’_ The _whole_ time, through every struggle, every heartbreak, Chuck had been sat back with his feet up, probably a goddamn bucket of butter popcorn in his lap whilst he watched their misery, and he didn’t do a _thing._

He’s _God._ He could have stepped in whenever, snapped his fingers, and fixed the world's problems. But no. Instead, he hid behind this ‘tired father’ façade, crafting a story about how it was best to stand back and let humanity figure itself out. It’s all bullshit. He wasn’t tired, he was _bored._ His playthings had lost their appeal when there wasn’t any evil in the world to challenge them, so he threw every shitty situation he could their way and watched it unfold. But now he’s bored of that, too. They weren’t following Chuck’s script anymore, and so their usefulness has come to an end.

Dean doesn’t know how far away the end is. It’s coming, he knows that. It’s not that he _wants_ to follow Chuck’s script, but it feels like every move he makes, every action he thinks is rebelling from the plan set out for him only proves to be exactly what Chuck wants him to do. Hell, maybe there’s a script sat somewhere on whatever computer Chuck uses to write on now, flipped open to reveal a page where Dean is sat right where he is right now, hunched over the kitchen table with a glass of whiskey in hand and a half-empty bottle of whiskey opposite being his only company. Though, he’s sure it won’t be half-empty for much longer. It’s not like he has to care about liver failure anymore, right?

Soft footsteps pad down the bunker’s hallway, the muted sound bouncing off the walls and echoing down to the kitchen. Dean glances down to the black-coated watch sat snugly on his wrist, the two hands pointing to 2:34 AM. There was no way Sam would be up at this hour- unless he had gotten significantly better at quietening his deafening footsteps. Dean’s first guess was Jack. It wouldn’t surprise him if the kid was sneaking out of his room at early ass o’clock to down some of that cereal that Sam doesn’t want him eating (which is funny, since it’s always Sam who throws the box in their cart whenever they take a trip to the store.)

Dean catches a figure at the doorway out of the corner of his eye, only partly illuminated by the buzzing kitchen lights that spilled out into the dark hallways. Dean’s guess is proven wrong as his eyes land on a familiar tan trench coat, solemn eyes flicking up from the whiskey bottle to meet Castiel’s disheartened face.

“Good of you to join the party.” Dean rumbled, vaguely gesturing at the seat opposite the table for Cas to sit in.

“It’s late.” Castiel stated the obvious, not moving from the entrance of the kitchen. “Or, early, I suppose is more accurate.”

Dean hummed low in his throat in acknowledgment, tipping his nearly finished glass back and draining the last of its contents. Castiel’s eyes followed the movement of his hands as Dean let his glass drop back down to the table, pulling the whiskey bottle closer with his other hand and pouring himself a fresh glass. Castiel’s sigh was barely audible, but Dean could still pick it up. He was pretty good at stuff like that with Cas. Castiel shuffled closer to the table, gently lowering himself down into the seat Dean had offered like an old man with stiff bones would. Which, technically, Dean guessed he was. Cas was, what, a few billion years old? Explains why he treats Dean like a little kid sometimes. From his perspective, that’s probably what Dean is.

“Want some?” Dean offered, shaking the bottle in Castiel’s direction. 

Castiel hesitated for a moment, the word ‘no’ already forming on his tongue when he instead reached out a hand and took the bottle from Dean. Castiel pushed himself out of the chair, making his way over to one of the cabinets in the corner of the kitchen. Dean fixated on a random spot on Castiel’s back, listening to the clinking of glass and dishware as Castiel searched through the cabinet. He re-appeared back in the chair a few seconds later, an identical tumbler to Dean’s in his hand. Cas was quick to pour himself his own drink, sliding the bottle across the table back to Dean once he was finished. Cas was practically mirrored with Dean, slumped over the table as he nursed his own glass of whiskey, taking the occasional sip as the two sat in companionable silence.

It was deathly quiet. In some sort of typical drama movie, they’d hear the irritating ticking of a clock from somewhere within the bunker. There wasn’t even that. Well, if Dean strained his hearing enough, he _might_ be able to hear the hands in his watch move with each passing second. Cas probably could – scratch that, _definitely_ could. Dean’s not entirely sure how hearing all those little sounds doesn’t drive Cas crazy, but then again, Cas has probably had to deal with countless desperate prayers before. He’s probably learned to filter it out by now.

Dean shook his head sadly, the minute movement catching Castiel’s attention. “Aren’t you tired of this, Cas?”

“Of what?” Castiel’s voice grated out.

“Everything.” Dean responded, tapping a random rhythm against the side of his glass with his pointer finger. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, man. This half-baked plan where we juice Jack up and just… just fucking _throw_ him at Chuck. I can’t keep pretending like I believe it’s going to work. That it’s all going to be okay.”

“Of course I am. Dean, I’m _very_ tired.” Cas even sounded it. “And it probably won’t ‘all be okay’.”

Castiel’s honesty caught Dean off guard. Dean’s eyes met Cas’s briefly, finding nothing but the honesty his voice had displayed. Dean’s eyes dropped back down to his glass, letting out a breathy sigh before taking another sip of whiskey.

“ ‘S weird hearing you say that.” Dean said once the burn of the liquor subsided.

“Sorry,” The corner of Castiel’s lips barely hitched as he apologized. “I’m just having trouble picture a scenario where we win _and_ come out completely unscathed.”

Dean nearly snorted into his drink. “Yeah, you can say that again.”

A thought crossed Dean’s mind, though it’s one that he had frequently thought of recently. He had been about to take another sip, the glass of whiskey raised to his lips as the thought passed over his mind. He placed the whiskey back down as he asked Castiel what was on his mind. “How are you okay with all this, Cas? I mean me, I… I’ll admit, I haven’t always treated the kid right. Even knowing what he did to… to mom, everything else, even what _I_ nearly did to him, yet none of this sits right with me. _You_ though… every step of the way, ever since Jack talked to you in Kelly’s freakin’ womb, you’ve done everything you can to keep him alive.”

“I don’t have much of a say in the matter.” It sounded like it pained Castiel to say that. “I don’t have much hope for us defeating God. If there’s anyone that has even a small chance, any _being_ that might be able to take him down… Jack’s the only option we have.”

Dean smiled sadly at Castiel across the table. “Man… if five years ago you told me someday our only hope against _God_ would be the devil's kid, then…” Dean paused for a moment. “Actually, I probably would believe it. Maybe ten years ago I wouldn’t.”

“And what if I had told you that we had the son of Lucifer _living_ with us?” Castiel’s lips had curled into a subtle smile.

“I’d probably have to trap you in a ring of holy fire and check you haven’t gone crazy again.” Dean joked. “If you had _also_ told me that I had come to care for the kid and seen him as one of our own, I would probably just have to stab you on principle.”

Castiel’s subtle smile had turned all soft and warm, which is kind of odd considering Dean was talking about stabbing him; but then when Dean remembered the way they met, it’s not all that weird.

“It’s been a strange journey, hasn’t it?” Castiel asked.

Dean chuckled dryly. “Bet you never thought you’d fall quite so far from grace, huh? One second you’re a soldier of _God_ parading around a bunch of white hallways, and the next you’re sat in a dingy kitchen in a hidden bunker, sharing a glass of whiskey with me.”

“It’s certainly not something I would have envisioned back then.” Castiel admitted. “But I wouldn’t swap what I have now to get that back. There’s nowhere else I want to be than right here. Perhaps under better circumstances, and perhaps with a little less weight on our shoulders.”

“Yeah, well – we probably wouldn’t be here if that was the case, would we?”

“No. No, I suppose not.”

Dean hesitated as he looked to the defeated expression plastered on Castiel’s face, something almost akin to disappointment hiding behind hazy blue eyes as they stared down drearily at the worn wooden table. This happened a lot with them. Words he wants to say, impulsive thoughts that make it to the tip of his tongue. And every time, they get pushed back. Second thoughts, fears of pushing things too far and changing things that he’s not ready for, and then the words never make their way out. Too many times where he’s lost Cas, always certain that _‘this time, it’s it. No more do-overs.’_ He’ll agonize over the ‘ _what-if’s_ ’, of all he wanted to say to Cas, but never could. And every time that realization will set in that he’ll never get to say those words to him, because he was too much of a coward. Because it was easier to stay as what they were, because he couldn’t handle the change. He’ll think about all the things he would say if he were still alive, and when Cas finds his way back to ~~them~~ _to him,_ he chickens out once more. It’s a vicious cycle he wishes he could break.

“I hope you know it’s the same for me too, Cas.”

There. He got them out. Cas glanced up from the table at him, eyebrows furrowing until they were slanted towards the center. “What’s the same?”

“I mean…” Dean nearly choked on his words, filtering his mind so that what he said wasn’t _too_ embarrassing. “This is where I want to be. I know I don’t say it enough to you, Cas. In fact, most of what I say is… it’s shit I don’t mean. Not really. I let my anger take over, and sometimes it takes me a while to see things how they really are.”

“I know, Dean.” Castiel interrupted gently. “You don’t have to tell me it again. I won’t forget that prayer.”

Dean coughed awkwardly, taking another sip of his whiskey to hide the flush he could feel creeping up his neck onto his face. “Good. I just… I don’t want you to think we don’t want you here.” _We. We, We, We._ Why cant he say it? ‘ _I.’ ‘I_ want you here _. I need_ you here _.’_ “I don’t want to think about losing you again, Cas. When Jack was born and we lost you, I… They weren’t fun times, Cas. I couldn’t cope then, and if it happened again… it would break me, Cas.”

“You’ll find a way.” Castiels word dredged up an awful lump in his chest. Something about what he said just not sitting right. “You and Sam managed without me before. You’ll find a way to move on.”

“ _What?”_ Dean spluttered, straightening up from his slanted position. “Cas, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m just… being realistic.” Cas said, taking a moment to settle on his words. “There’s a chance we may not win this fight at all, and there’s an even greater chance that some of us aren’t going to make it out. I know it’s not really something in any of our control, but if it comes down to it, I’m ready for the end, Dean. All I had to live for was my mission. To watch over humanity. I’m still trying to uphold that mission. But you need to remember that I was given another mission, once - To save Dean Winchester. I’m still trying to do that. I’ll never stop trying to do that, Dean.”

“Then we have a problem, Cas.” Dean told him calmly. “Because I’m sure as hell not letting you throw yourself in the firing line again. Not for me. And you can bet damn sure that I’m throwing myself in the way if I see you try and pull that shit.”

“Dean-,”

“No, Cas.” Dean said sharply. “I can’t do it anymore. I’m not losing you… not again.”

Castiel’s jaw shifted ever so subtly, a shiny sheen to his eyes that Dean isn’t used to seeing. Dean was doing his best to catch Castiel’s eyes, but they were fixated on the glass in his hands. Castiel’s grip was so tight that his knuckles had begun to turn a milky white, and Dean wondered how close the glass was to shattering. Yet, Castiel didn’t _seem_ angry. This was something else, and there was nothing Dean could do but wait for Castiel to say _something._

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

There it was. The world ending? Dean didn’t panic. Just those few words from Cas? It was like someone had poured ice-cold water over him, nothing but dread sinking down and spreading to every inch of his body. Those words never meant anything good. Dean let the silence between them stretch on for a moment more, knocking his drink back and swallowing down every last drop. It still wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough alcohol in this bunker, hell, there wasn’t enough in all of _existence_ that would numb what was about to come.

“Tell me.”

Dean didn’t mean to bark the words as sharply as he did, but it was enough for Castiel to shrink in on himself and for a muscle under his eye to twitch as he cringed away from Dean’s harsh tone. “I didn’t want to worry you or Sam. We had a lot to deal with at the time, and things just kept getting worse after that. There never seemed to be a good time to tell you.”

 _‘At the time…’_ Those were the keywords Dean picked out. This meant that whatever it was, Cas had been keeping it a secret for a while. At least, enough time to warrant those words. Dean didn’t say anything in response, waiting quietly for Castiel to continue.

“I thought it would be a kindness to hide it from you. Maybe it would make it easier… Now, I’m not too sure.”

“Cas.” Dean said as calmly as he could, considering the situation. “What did you do?”

“I made a deal.”

Dean closed his eyes, an odd mixture of a sigh and a groan escaping his throat. He tilted his head back until his neck couldn’t crane back any further. “What kind of deal?”

“To save Jack.” Of _course._ Of course, he would. “I did find Jack in heaven. I didn’t lie about that. Except… the Empty didn’t agree with the decision of Jack’s placement. It believed that, since Jack was part angel, he belongs to the Empty.”

“Couldn’t, y’know, the angels stop it?”

“No.” Castiel stated sadly. “Dean, there aren’t many angels left. I saw to that myself. We as a species are near extinction. I doubt the last few alive would be willing to risk their lives, to risk heavens destruction, to keep a Nephilim up there with them.”

“…Why would it risk heaven?”

“Heaven cannot exist without angels, Dean. We as beings are made from divine energy. We serve as Heaven’s batteries. Without us… it can no longer function. The destruction it would wreak on Earth would be catastrophic. _Billions_ of souls would be cast back out to Earth with no way back. If that were to happen, the reapers may just have to place souls in the Empty anyway.”

“Alright…” Dean said tiredly, trying to massage away a throbbing headache he could feel building, rubbing across the pressure underneath his forehead.

“I couldn’t let that happen, Dean. I couldn’t let Jack be taken like that. So I offered myself to it, instead.”

If Dean clenched his jaw any tighter, he would probably crack a few of his teeth. But it was all he could do to stop himself from punching his fist through the wooden table, so it would have to do. “How long?” Dean croaked out, opening his eyes and feeling the harsh burn of tears building, fighting to speak past the lump that had appeared in his throat.

“I don’t know.” Castiel’s answer sent a new wave of iciness down Dean’s back. “It didn’t want me right away. The deal was… it said it would only take me once I allowed myself to feel happy. I don’t know what it means by that, but that’s when it said it would take me. So truthfully Dean, I don’t know.”

Dean didn’t say anything. Not that there’s really anything to say. At least, nothing that isn't a slew of curses and hate-filled words towards the universe. He’s already fighting against the impulse to take the glass in his hands and throw it against the concrete walls of the bunker as hard as he could and listen to it shatter into a million pieces. Just as the anger inside of him feels like it’s about to simmer over, it all seems to drain out of him as quickly as it had come.

Things are different now. It feels like there’s no time for anger. Especially not towards Cas, and especially not _now._ Something mystic was looming over Castiel, ticking away his seconds until it snatches him away. Only when Castiel finds himself out of the misery Chuck had forced upon them will the Empty take Cas away from him.

It wasn’t _fair._

It wasn’t fair, and it’s not even him it’s happening to. How selfish is he for that? Cas is the one that should be moping. Cas is the one who has more than one powerful being planning his demise, and all Dean can think about is how this is going to affect _him._ Because it will. It will absolutely destroy him, just as it did before.

“We’ll find a way.” Dean croaked out. “We’ll get you out of this, Cas. We always do.”

“No, Dean.” Castiel shook his head woefully. “This isn’t something you can fix. _Please,_ Dean. If… _when_ it comes, don’t try and stop it. You can't fight the Empty.”

“You know I can't do that, Cas.”

“You’ll have to.” Castiel’s tone left no room for arguments. Not that it would stop Dean from trying. “Dean, the Empty isn’t something you can fight.”

“Me and Sam said the same thing about demons over ten years ago.” Dean pointed out firmly. “We found a way, didn’t we? Every being has its weakness, we just gotta find it.”

“Not this. Not the Empty. It’s… it’s not even in existence, really. Something that sits in between. The Empty was here before _God,_ before Amara, before… _everything._ ”

“How is that possible?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. It’s hard to wrap my head around it.”

“So what’s it been doing all this time?”

“Sleeping.” Castiel answered.

“What?”

“It does just as every other being in the Empty does – sleep for eternity.”

“Okay…” Dean said slowly. “Okay, then… why is it awake now?”

“Jack.” Castiel responded. “After Lucifer stabbed me through my heart, it was just… blackness. Nothingness. Then I heard Jack calling my name, and when I awoke, I was _surrounded_ by it. Jack hadn’t just woken up me, but the Empty too. And the Empty does _not_ like being awake.”

“Jack woke it up, then?”

“Not purposefully. At least, I don’t think so. All I know is that the Empty could not return to sleep whilst I was awake. After I… _proved_ I was not going to lay down and fall back asleep, the Empty decided the best course of action would be to throw me back out. I think the Empty may have held a grudge against me after that. It certainly wasn’t happy to see me again when I was searching for Ruby.”

Dean sighed heavily at the reminder of that day. “That was a stupid fucking risk you took, Cas.”

“I did what I had to.” Castiel defended himself.

“And what if the Empty decided to take you early, huh? What then?”

Castiel went suspiciously quiet after Dean said this, dropping his gaze back down to the whiskey bottle. Dean gave him a few seconds to pick at the corner of the label on the bottle before his patience ran thin.

“Cas?”

“It tried.” Castiel let his eyelids flutter shut as he answered. Perhaps to block out Dean’s reaction to his answer. “It seems that whilst Jack was in the Empty, a discussion was had between Jack, the Empty and Billy – or, I suppose Death now. From what the Empty and Billy know; you, Jack, and Sam are needed to help bring down Chuck and keep the universe functioning. Apparently… I am not needed in that regard. I am not a part of the plan, so… the Empty didn’t see any harm in keeping me there.”

“ _Jesus_ , Cas.” Dean cursed sharply. “If we hadn’t got back when we did - if Jack hadn’t returned your grace to you when he did…”

“It was fortunate timing.”

Dean knocked his glass out of the way with the back of his hand, letting it slide across the table until it bumped against the wall. Dean leaned further forward against the table, his arms crossed underneath him as he stared directly into Cas’s eyes. “The Empty’s wrong. You _are_ needed.”

“No, Dean. I’m not.”

“Yes, you damn are.” Dean stated resolutely. “If I’m needed for this plan, then I need you here with me, too. That’s just how it works, Cas. So don’t you dare tell me you’re not needed. Because _I_ need you.”

Castiel could really give Sam a run for his money with his puppy-dog eyes, especially with those damn baby blues of his. They were way too effective in conversations like these- they usually sucked all the arguments Dean had formed right out of his head. If he wasn’t as strong of a man as he was, looking at them for more than five seconds would probably reduce him to a puddle on the floor. “I’m sorry for causing you this grievance, Dean. But I’m not sorry for making the deal. It was the only option I had at the time.”

“I know, Cas” Dean reached out a hand to pat Castiel’s arm. “I want to be pissed at you for it, but I can’t. Me and Sam have made more deals that upset the other than I can count… It just… it sucks.”

“Yes, it does indeed ‘suck’,” Castiel raised two fingers to put quotation marks over the word. It was enough to get Dean to snort quietly to himself, the sound eliciting a rare, soft smile from Cas; with crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes and all.

“You never change, Cas.” Dean murmured into the whiskey glass he held to his lips.

“I tried not to.” Castiel replied. “You told me not to, remember? If the person I turned out to be was enough to see you smile that day, I didn’t want to change into anyone else.”

It hurt Dean- knowing he might not hear Castiel say those words again. Such kind words that made his chest feel funny and light, something he hasn’t felt in… in a long, long time. Though now, peering at Cas over his glass, he wonders if that feeling has been there this whole time. Dean wouldn’t put it past himself… Something like that would quickly be filed into the “don’t touch with a ten feet pole” file in his brain… which, now he thinks about it, is filled with interactions with Cas. The first time he saw him smile, the first time his gravelly laughter caught him off guard… The memory of his arm thrown over Cas’ shoulder, the absolutely baffled look on his face as they walked out of that brothel. Even then, Cas had no clue what was going on, but he was smiling – because Dean was.

How about that fact that Cas was willing to lead those crazy toothed leviathan freaks on a never-ending goose chase just to keep him safe in purgatory? Or, the time Castiel gave up everything he knew to help a pair of idiot brothers stop the _Apocalypse?_ Or, perhaps the time he gave up his entire army, all for him? Or how Cas never stopped to help Sam find a way to get the mark of Cain off his arm?

Those were just scratching the surface of the stack of files stores safely away in his mind… When it comes down to it, Castiel has been there. Even when it’s led him to more pain than seems worth it, Cas has stayed by his side. And now, to think in the miracle he, Sam, and Jack make it through all this bullshit, he might not have Castiel there anymore? It’s unthinkable, is what it is. But he’s thinking about it. It’s why he finds himself reaching for the amber bottle in front of him once more.

“So,” Dean gets out once he slams his glass back down on the table. “Last night on earth. Any plans?”

Castiel smiled fondly at the familiar words, tracing random designs on the side of his glass with his fingertip. “This one right here. If I only have a short time left here before… I like quiet moments like these. With you. Whatever time is left, I’d like to share it with you. If you’ll have me.”

They both liked to play this game. Throwing out words that could have entirely different meanings. Nervous looks exchanged between the two of them, wondering if the other is going to take up the offer that’s hidden, no, _intertwined_ within words that are balancing on the line between “brothers” or “lovers”.

Well, you know what? He doesn’t know how much time he has left with Cas.

The world was ending.

He’s gonna make the most of it, dammit.

Dean turned over his glass, already well aware he’s going to be cleaning off the ring of whiskey from the rim of the glass that’ll be stuck to the table. “I don’t know about you Cas, but I think I’m about ready to settle down for the night.”

Castiel’s eyes followed him curiously as Dean stood from the table, kicking the stool back into its place and patting Castiel’s shoulder for good measure as he makes his way around the table. Castiel has to crane his neck to follow him, eventually having to twist his body around as he watches Dean make his way to the doorway to the kitchen. Dean stops as his foot hits the top stair leading into the hallway, casting Castiel an inquisitive look over his shoulder.

“I said I’m heading in for the night.” Dean repeated, that overwhelming fondness threatening to burst through his chest at the inquiring head tilt Cas gives him in response. “You coming, or what?”

Watching the change of expression on Cas’s face was always something to behold to Dean. Usually such small changes, but at this point, Dean could read Cas like a book. This time? He’s not too sure. The curious look dissolves away, eyebrows straightening back from their furrowed position. He recognizes the wide-eyed look though- that’s the tell-tale sign that Castiel is feeling nervous. He doesn’t know what for, though. Well, maybe he does know why Cas is feeling nervous, if the pounding in _his_ chest has any say… Above all else though, Castiel has his _warrior_ face on. The look before he goes into battle. The look that tries to hide what he’s really feeling, and Dean hopes that he can do something similar, because he’s not sure how much his face is going to give away before he’s ready to say. Maybe that’s a good thing…

Then, Castiel stands from the table. It’s agonizingly slow, the stool screeching as it’s pushed back against the concrete floor of the kitchen. Dean’s heart is in his throat as Castiel picks up the glasses and the whiskey bottle, wandering over to the kitchen sink and delicately placing the glasses inside. Dean didn’t think his mouth could get any drier, watching Cas as he cleans up and places the bottle back inside the cabinet Dean had got it from. He doesn’t know what to expect once Castiel is finished with these chores that, quite frankly, seem like they can wait.  
But when Castiel is coming at him – and _fast-_ with that blank angel of the lord face, Dean briefly wonders if Cas is about to sucker punch him for the offer. Castiel doesn’t stop though. He crashes straight into Dean, the impact enough for Dean to stagger back a step. Castiel’s hands are wrapped tightly around his back, his fingers scrunched tightly in a death-grip around the back of Dean’s flannel shirt. Dean wraps his own arms around Cas, hands ready to do his usual friendly pat on the shoulder when he instead lets his fingers dig into Cas’s trench coat and pull him even closer. Castiel’s face is burrowed into the crook of his neck, warm breath fanning against Dean’s skin, with his eyes scrunched tight to fight back the tears Castiel can feel burning in the corners of his eyes, threatening to slip free at any moment. Dean let his head fall to rest at Castiel’s shoulder, his breath hitching as he takes in a smell that could only belong to Cas. That weird, otherworldly yet Earthly smell that somehow reminded him that Castiel wasn’t human, yet made Dean feel like he was home. Truthfully, Dean doesn’t know how long they stood there. What he can tell you, is that it wasn’t long enough. It’s _never_ long enough.

“Come on…” Dean mumbled softly under his breath into Cas’s ear. He mourns the loss of Cas’s warmth wrapped around him the second Cas pulls away. Dean lets his hand trail down Cas’s arm as Cas releases him from their embrace, gently grabbing hold of Cas’s wrist and giving it a squeeze, tugging Castiel in the direction of his room. “Let’s go.”

Castiel lets Dean pull him down the hallway, guiding him towards Dean’s room as if Cas didn’t already know. It was more of a sign of permission, Dean thought. A gentle squeeze around Cas’s wrist to say “It’s okay. I want you here with me.” The many rich brown doors to the bunker slowly move across his vision as they amble through the dreary concrete hallways of the bunker, his fingers tightening their grip around Cas’s wrist with every step Dean gets closer to his room. His eyes dart to the side as he passes Sam’s room, and then Jacks. Another day, another situation, he would momentarily panic at the thought of either of them finding Cas in his room. Now? He couldn’t care less. Let them see him and Cas. Let them think what they’re going to think. Dean’s going to let himself be happy, just this once. And deep down he knows that _they_ know Cas makes him happy - so they won’t care. They were all trying to find their little sources of happiness at the moment. That’s all there is, isn’t there? Especially in the lives they lead. When those rare moments pass, you’ve gotta hold on to them. And Dean sure as hell isn’t going to let Cas go until he’s ripped away from him.

The door to his bedroom never seemed so foreboding as it did right now. Dean only pauses for a split-second outside of his door before he gathers up the courage he needs and swings the door open. When he steps inside, he’s immediately met with resistance. Cas was standing as still as a statue, no longer giving in to Dean’s guiding tugs. His eyes were scanning the room like it was the first time he had truly laid eyes on it, and Dean could immediately spot the way his forehead had began to crease with worry. He gives Cas time to work through whatever it is that’s going through his mind right now, only raising a brow in question once Castiel’s searching gaze lands on him.

“Are you sure?” Castiel asks apprehensively. The second Dean starts to feel Cas trying to tug his wrist out of Dean’s grasp, Dean rubs his thumb softly over the surface of his skin. Cas hand immediately relaxes once more, a shudder running through his body as Dean’s thumb swipes across the pulse point on his wrist.

“You’ve gotta stop questioning this, Cas. Otherwise, you’re never gonna get through this door.” Dean replies with a small, comforting smile. “See, this is your problem, Cas. You don’t have faith.”

It doesn’t get the laugh out of Cas like he wanted, but it does at least get him a curl of the lips as the tension that Castiel was holding melted away. Castiel follows willingly now, stepping through the doorframe and into the room. Dean nudges the door closed with his free hand, and just like that, the world outside the door ceased to exist. This was all he knew to be real, right now: The guns hanging on his wall, the picture of him and mom sat atop his desk next to the typewriter, his collection of classic records, the much too comfortable memory foam mattress of his bed. The only irregularity in the room was Cas, stood in front of him with that searching gaze of his, and suddenly everything seemed like it was going to be okay. Because he has Cas, he’s right here. Because surely so long as he keeps a hold on him, nothing can ever take him away.

Right?

Dean sits down on the edge of his bed with a heavy sigh, wincing as he pulled his boots off his sore feet and throwing them somewhere out of sight. He pushed himself further up the bed until his back hits the headboard, twisting around to grab the pillow behind him and place it behind his back. When he turns back to face the front, he has to stifle a bark of laughter at the sight of Cas sat uneasily on the chair by his desk, turned to face Dean with his hands in his lap.

“Cas… What are you doing?”

“I assumed you had invited me in to watch over you.” Castiel replied like the answer was obvious.

Dean did snort this time. “No, you dumbass.” Dean insulted him fondly, patting at the empty space he had left next to him on the bed. “Your space is here.”

A look of what could only be described as “Oh” passed briefly over Castiel’s face as his eyes darted between Dean and the spot he was gesturing to. Castiel stood awkwardly from the chair, gingerly making his way across the room and lowering himself down onto Dean’s bed.

“Your mattress is much more comfortable than mine.” Castiel notes, placing a hand down on the mattress and pushing down to test its springiness.

“Memory Foam.” Dean answered proudly. “I got the only one in the bunker. I didn’t think the quality of a mattress bothered you anymore with your grace back?”

“I can still feel physical touches on my body, Dean. I may not need to sleep or eat, or the other often tedious human requirement, but I still enjoy some of them and are plenty capable.” Castiel said.

“Good.” Dean grunted, reaching out to his bedside cabinet and pulling out his trusty tape player. “That means you’re not gonna be a creep and watch me sleep tonight, right?”

“I can enjoy sleep.” Castiel said in answer. “But I enjoy making sure you’re safe more.”

“I’m safe, Cas.” Dean assured him, briefly turning from the cabinet to face Cas. “Let’s just… I don’t know, be like normal people for a night.”

“But… we aren’t.” Castiel’s voice was laced with confusion. “And I’m not even ‘people’.”

“You’re what you are.” Dean shrugged his shoulders. “And I wouldn’t want you any other way, Cas.”

Dean unplugged his bulky headphone from the player, grabbing the tangled-up earphones he had stuffed in the corner of his drawer. Castiel watches him amusedly as Dean meticulously untangles the mess of wires in his hands, occasionally having to hide his smile whenever Dean cursed in frustration under his breath. When he finally sorts the earphones out and plugs them into the player, he pops open the lid only to reveal there was no tape inside – either he had moved it to Baby or Sam, even possible Jack, had ~~stolen~~ _borrowed_ it.

“Dammit,” Dean mutters, flipping the lid back closed and placing it back on the bedside table. “Give me a second Cas, I’ve gotta go get-“

Dean had begun to push himself up and off the bed when Castiel had placed a hand on his chest to stop him. Dean fell back onto the bed at Castiel’s gentle push, mouth open to ask Cas what he was doing. Castiel slid his other hand into the pocket of his trench coat, pulling out a tape of all things and holding it out to Dean, held between his index and middle finger. Dean’s eyes were immediately drawn to the white sticky tape placed on the side of the cassette; his own handwriting scribbled across in black sharpie.

‘ **Deans top 13 Zepp TRA XX’**

“You know, you’re supposed to have this in your car, not your pocket.” Dean tells him as he takes the offered tape from Cas’s hands.

“I know.” Castiel replied, letting his hand drop back down to his lap. “I do keep it in the car when I’m listening to it. If not, I keep it on me.”

Dean shot Cas a confused frown as he pushed the tape into the slot. “Why?”

“So that I can have a little piece of you wherever I go.”

The cassette clicked and whirred as the tape began to spin inside the player. Dean held out the left earbud for Cas to take, waiting for Cas to pinch the small bud between his fingers before he popped the right earbud into his ear. The wire was a bit too short, meaning one jerk of the head and the earbud would probably pop out. Castiel solved the problem by scooching closer to Dean until his leg brushed up against Dean’s, the warmth from Dean’s skin tangible even through the thick layer of jeans covering him.

For a moment, all that came from the earbuds was a rough, distorted crackling sound. Then, the beautiful melody of ‘Thank You’ poured from the earbuds. Dean felt the muscles in his body relax as the familiar music surrounded him. It reminded him of long road trips with John in the Impala, when his dad would inevitably pop his Led Zeppelin tape into baby’s cassette player and drive for miles and miles, classic rock and baby’s purring engine as their soundtrack. Dean could almost hear the rhythmic tapping of John’s fingers against the worn leather of baby’s steering wheel, finding his own fingers tapping along with the music against his thigh.

Dean let his head fall back to the headboard, his eyelids drifting shut as the back of his head met the old and sturdy wood. Castiel peered at Dean from the side at the movement, smiling tenderly to himself at the sight of Dean so at peace. It was no surprise that this is where the tape picked up from - Castiel often rewound the tape to this song over and over again whenever he could take the time to sit down and listen to it.

Castiel’s gaze was drawn down to Dean’s tapping fingers – or, more specifically, his fingers that had now stilled. Dean’s hand twitched, and Castiel wondered for a moment if Dean had managed to fall asleep in the short amount of time they had been listening to the tape. Castiel takes a risk, reaching down hesitantly and letting his fingertips trail over the roughened skin of Dean’s hand. It’s not until he lets his fingers rest over the back of his hand that he feels Dean’s tense up under his touch – apparently, Dean had _not_ fallen asleep. Castiel had already pulled his hand away, an apology on the tip of his tongue when Dean does the unexpected. He flips his hand over, palm facing up as it rested on his right leg. Castiel’s eyes flicker up to Dean’s face, but he still has his eyes shut – though, they aren’t _screwed_ shut, which Castiel takes as a good sign. Dean didn’t look uncomfortable. In fact, he looked quite the opposite. It might have been the most relaxed he had ever seen Dean; apart from when he’s unconscious, but he isn’t too sure if that counts.

Timidly, Castiel places his hand back into Dean’s. Dean’s palm is warm and calloused from years of wielding weapons capable of taking down nearly every known creature, to years of running his hands over the well-loved steering wheel of the Impala. These were hunter's hands, and Castiel could barely believe he had the privilege to hold them in his own. Castiel’s breath hitched when he felt Dean’s fingers curl between his own, his thumb wrapping around the side of Cas’s palm and squeezing his hand tenderly.

The last of ‘Thank You’ faded away, soon to be replaced with ‘Rain Song’ - another particular favorite of Castiel’s (though truth be told, he loved all of them.) For a moment, he could almost pretend all of his problems no longer existed. He could pretend this was a different world, a different life. He wasn’t a disgraced angel of the lord that rebelled against God’s plan. He wasn’t the unexpected father who gave up the rest of his life so that their son could escape the Empty’s wrath. He was just… himself. He was Castiel, sat next to the one man who did what was supposed to be impossible; he made an angel feel.

Castiel didn’t know the words to use. He didn’t know if he could get them out, or if Dean would even listen to him. Dean was stubborn in that way, pretending that his death wouldn’t be coming so long as Castiel didn’t say his last goodbyes. He supposed it made it official when said out loud like that. The words ‘Thank You’ don’t seem good enough to explain his appreciation to Dean. Billions of years on this earth, and somehow this one man made twelve years of them the most important. All of this, the man he’s become, would never have happened if he hadn’t been chosen to dive into the depths of hell and rescue the gleaming soul that was falling asleep next to him.

He could still remember the flames. The burning. The screams of the innocent all around him. The stench of sulfur as he plummeted down. He lost many good soldiers that day, all willingly sacrificed for a mission they truly believed in. He hadn’t known, then. Of the effect Dean Winchester would have on his life. And yet, as he held a broken Dean to his chest, holding on so tight that he seared his handprint into Dean’s shoulder, he still yelled to the heavens in his joy.

_Dean Winchester Is Saved_

It had been a yell powerful enough to awaken a fallen angel. A yell that pierced through the minds of every angel, blocking out the multiple other voices on the angel radio with his own. It was the only message that mattered, at least in his own mind. Now, there aren’t many angels left. Soon, there will be one less. Again, he wants to scream to the heavens. He wants to shout to the universe of the wonderful man he has fallen completely and utterly in love with, he wants to yell to a caring God to _please,_ protect him. Let him live the happy life he deserves.

But God isn’t listening. God doesn’t want good things for them.

So, he won’t think about all that. He’ll peel his trench coat from his arms and lay it over Dean’s slumbering form. He’ll pull off his suit jacket, neatly and carefully fold it so he doesn’t tug on the earphones, and place it on the foot of the bed. He’ll let himself sink into the memory foam mattress until it wraps itself around his body. He’ll let the corner of his lips lift when Dean’s head drops down to rest on his shoulder. He’ll rest his head against the top of Dean’s, and he’ll let his eyes droop, and he’ll let himself be pulled under into a gentle slumber with Dean’s hand still held securely in his own.

Because he doesn’t know if this is the last night they’ll ever get together. He doesn’t know if this is the end. If the world was ending.

He thinks he’s allowed to be selfish.

Just this once.


End file.
